A breakthrough came six months later with an imminent court appearance for Donaldson. Having learned that he faced 11 charges – including six of assaulting Jane and one of threatening to shoot her and her family in the head – a story was written.
Contempt laws exist to protect people charged with crimes from having prejudicial material published prior to their trial. It is deemed fair that a jury considering guilt or innocence should not know if the accused is already, for example, a convicted axe killer. But a law designed to ensure fair trials also inadvertently benefits major criminals by censoring their convictions or gangland associations. It legitimises by omission. Media lawyers love pontificating about the nuances of contempt, but it often seems to be just a guessing game as the Crown operates a pick’n’mix policy of pursuing cases at random, blithely overlooking blatant breaches when it suits them. A lawyer’s interpretation, therefore, resulted in our story about Donaldson’s domestic violence arrest being sanitised. No reference could be made to his gangland links. Even his nickname was prohibited – lest it somehow taint jurors’ minds in some way. Instead, we had to falsely call him a ‘tycoon’ and ‘millionaire businessman’, jarring misuses of language. Barry Hughes benefited from contempt laws in exactly the same way. While his fraud and money-laundering case churned through court for 1,309 days, the press could not refer to his convictions or gangland cronies – again, legitimacy by omission.
In the digital era, it is impossible to scour the internet and remove all traces of potentially prejudicial material and, given that jurors are under strict orders to consider only evidence led in court, the time to bin or radically reform contempt laws is long overdue.
I had been picking up more chatter about Donaldson’s negative view of me. A washed-up actor often seen weaving between west-end bars had been tasked with finding out information about me through a mutual associate. I phoned him to question him and warn him off. He admitted knowing Donaldson, but his protestations of innocence were unconvincing. When he then tried to incorrectly blame me for publication of a story about his own domestic violence, I knew he was lying. This recorded conversation was passed to the police following the acid attack.
Donaldson was becoming increasingly close to Barry Hughes, which was curious because, a decade earlier, there had been a brief clash when Donaldson went after a Hughes associate with no comeback. Furthermore, Donaldson grew up with Hughes’ dad Donald in Calton, at the eastern edge of Glasgow city centre. Contemporaries tell how Donaldson made Hughes Sr’s life miserable with bullying and violence. As well as a shared animus towards me, Donaldson and Hughes were both active in football-related business and courted big names in the sport. Huge sums of money were involved. The more I heard, the more concerned I became. I regarded both Donaldson and Hughes as highly dangerous – not least due to their thin skins. The alarm bells caused me to seek advice from ex-police chief turned Labour MSP Graeme Pearson, who knew both of them well. As a young detective, Pearson was responsible for arresting Donaldson decades earlier over resetting, or handling, stolen fur coats near the Barras market. Pearson told me, ‘If Donaldson’s got you on his mind, take care. He is one who would deliver. I would never usually say that to anyone. The Barry Hughes connection is significant – he will have wound up Donaldson. Don’t get paranoid about it but take it seriously.’
When my story about Donaldson’s 11 charges was published in November 2014, I was not long into a new personal relationship and oblivious to the freakish coincidence that my partner lived in close proximity to Jane Clarke. Since fleeing from Majorca the previous summer, Jane had sustained an onslaught of charm and menace designed to make her back down. Just like Hughes, Donaldson had plenty of money to throw at lawyers. He would stop at nothing to ensure the right result. Also like Hughes, churning was a key weapon.
The scandal of churn had been going on for decades despite the efforts at reform by senior judges and prosecutors. In 2002, the judge Lord Bonomy was tasked with reviewing the ‘shambles’ of courts. He identified churning as the greatest problem, with one third of cases adjourned at least once. He said, ‘This change has greatly increased the distress and disruption caused to victims, relatives of victims, witnesses and jurors and may undermine public confidence in the criminal justice system. The public, quite rightly, expect that, in a modern, sophisticated legal system, it should be possible to organise business to reduce the level of distress and inconvenience.’
In 2003, Lord Advocate Colin Boyd – now a judge – said that lawyers should be censured for unnecessary delays ‘if it’s done purely with the intention of trying to find some loophole or to try and trip the prosecution up’.
Another judge, Lord Hamilton in 2011, gave this withering take on ‘corrosive’ churn: ‘I find it unacceptable that cases do not proceed on the day allotted to them – unless there are exceptional and wholly justified reasons for adjournment. Those who appear ill prepared to proceed or who have been unable to ensure the attendance of witnesses should expect close questioning from the bench. Churn is a waste of taxpayers’ money and is inimical to the proper administration of justice.’ Audit Scotland – the government agency which examines how taxpayers’ money is spent – produced a 2015 report which found the cost of churn in sheriff courts to be around £10 million or £27,400 every day.
It is female victims of sexual violence and domestic attacks who suffer most from churning, which is at odds with the oft-proclaimed political and police intent to deal quickly and effectively with men who harm women. In a submission to the Scottish Parliament justice committee, Scottish Women’s Aid charity stated, ‘Churn and delay is a particular issue in relation to cases involving domestic abuse.’ Jan Macleod, of Women’s Support Project charity, told MSPs on the committee, ‘Delays are very distressing not just for the victim but also for their partner or family. You have to get really psyched up for going to court so it can be very hard if the case is adjourned again and again.’ The Scottish government’s own guidelines attest to the swift prosecution of such cases being vital. They state that ‘fast-tracked cases have a lower incidence of victim retraction and therefore lower incidences of case attrition’.
Have these strongly worded interventions from judges, the significant cost to the public purse and, most importantly, the plea of victims made the slightest difference to the culture of churn? Quite clearly not. And, for as long as the vested financial interests of the legal profession trump the public interest, don’t expect things to change, no matter how much noise emanates from the bench or campaigners.
The Donaldson and Hughes cases could serve as case studies in churn. To echo the sentiment of the judges, it trashes justice and the public’s faith in it. Having first appeared at court in December 2013, Donaldson ordered his lawyers to use every stalling tactic at their disposal. As a reporter, I stopped counting the number of times the Crown stated that the case would go ahead only for it to be kicked into the long grass. Days became weeks, weeks months and months years. ‘Mañana, Mañana’ should be carved into the stonework above the Crown’s HQ in Chambers Street, Edinburgh.
Donaldson came up with another ruse – to use the civil justice system against his victim. He paid lawyers to sue Jane for £1 million, claiming that he had been a source of funding and business expertise to build her chain of children’s nurseries. The claim was untrue but it could not simply be ignored. So, as the criminal case inched painfully through court, Jane had to invest a huge amount of time and pay good money to lawyers in order to fight the spurious civil case that she had become ‘unjustly enriched’ thanks to him. Just as the state agencies HMRC and Care Commission had been used as tools in the campaign of control against her, now the civil courts opened up as another front in the domestic abuse.
Donaldson’s lawyers produced a list of witnesses for his claim. One name on it was Jane’s mother, who had been dead for many years. During one hearing, a lawyer sniggered about calling upon ‘the dead witness’. This legal action was an act of self-harm beca
use it shone an unwelcome spotlight on Donaldson’s own jealously guarded and intriguing financial affairs, opening them to public scrutiny and the eyes of state agencies.
Jane’s lawyers had no choice but to respond with a counter-claim which laid bare details of how she provided money to buy a £500,000 apartment in Dubai and a £125,000 flat on the island of Cape Verde, both in Donaldson’s name. Also in his name were a Majorcan bank account with a £300,000 balance and other accounts in Luxembourg and Cape Verde.
When I learned abut the civil case, I wrote an exclusive story which presumably only fuelled Donaldson’s anger towards me. Due to antiquated contempt law, we could only refer to him as a ‘businessman’. Twitchy lawyers were also adamant that we could not mention the parallel criminal case, even though it would not be in front of a jury any time soon, if at all. The civil case lasted for over a year.
Following the acid attack on me in December 2015, I ensured that every daily newspaper in Scotland was aware of the case when it was next called early in 2016. In a memo circulated to editors, I said:
The acid and knife attack on me at my home came after we published a series of articles about Mr Donaldson. These articles related to two court cases involving him – one civil, one criminal.
In the criminal case, he is accused of threatening to shoot his ex-partner (Jane Clarke) and inflicting years of physical violence against her. She – and other witnesses – have suffered a very serious and ongoing intimidation campaign. These include threats to have acid thrown in her face.
Simultaneously, he is pursuing her through the civil courts for £500k [this later increased to £1million], claiming a stake in her chain of kids’ nurseries. I believe that this case merits a united front and as broad coverage by as many newspapers as possible.
If the acid attack was supposed to temper journalistic interest in his activities, then it did not work. In fact, it had the opposite effect, as the press a showed touching unity by simultaneously publishing the story, thereby bringing it to the widest possible audience.
I also ensured that press photographers were present. Two of them – from The Scottish Sun and Daily Record – joined forces to skilfully capture the first picture of Donaldson for at least a decade.
Even more surprising than suing in the first place was Donaldson’s risky decision to give evidence in his mischievous case. He was questioned by Jane’s advocate, Jonathan Brown, about the assault allegations but declined to answer as to do so could have incriminated him. When Brown said, ‘You will understand, I think, that Miss Clarke’s position is she was subjected to sustained violence,’ Donaldson’s response was that he had ‘absolutely nothing to say’.
During one exchange, he claimed not to know one of his children’s date of birth – to the incredulity of Sheriff Anthony Deutsch. When the sheriff asked him to explain how he had arrived at a sum of £80,000 which he claimed to have initially invested, Donaldson blustered, ‘I can’t remember what I done last week never mind 15 years ago.’
Donaldson also talked about his previous business relationship with mortgage broker Iain Mulholland, the brother of Frank Mulholland, at the time Lord Advocate, in relation to a Dubai property transaction. Donaldson’s evidence was inconsistent, with shades of contempt, bordering on farcical. The only person who supported his purported involvement and financing of the nursery chain was his friend Colin McGowan, the chief executive of Hamilton Accies FC who has spoken at length about how drugs and alcohol addiction destroyed his own youth. The next of his witnesses due to be called was convicted fraudster turned millionaire property developer Bill Roddie. But, thankfully for Roddie, he didn’t have to appear as Donaldson suddenly abandoned his case.
Jane was relieved. Due to the intimidation campaign, she had been granted the right to testify from behind a protective screen, but the prospect of being forced to counter outrageous lies cooked up by a man who had physically battered her countless times was daunting. Had the case proceeded, the court would have heard more lurid details of Donaldson’s violence and his complex and international financial affairs. To have embarked on the case was reckless, but Donaldson exhibited some sense in quitting before it got any worse. His lawyer did not even attempt to challenge Jane’s request that he pay all costs for his absurd legal action. Whether Jane’s legal bill is ever paid by him remains to be seen.
The purpose of the civil case had been to crank up the pressure on Jane, to wear her down and to break her. All the while, she was bombarded with innumerable terrifying text messages day and night, all of which were reported to the police and all of which came from untraceable pay-as-you-go mobiles. She was once greeted by a pair of gangland thugs after she came through arrivals at Glasgow airport. On other occasions her home and vehicles were vandalised. The police installed a panic alarm in her home which would trigger an urgent response, and she was warned to vary her daily routine to make any attack more difficult to plan. One Christmas the threats were deemed so serious that she and her relatives were forced to stay indoors with a police guard outside the property and armed officers circling the area.
There were occasions where she buckled under the immense weight of it all. The temptation to make it all stop was often overwhelming, but she did not break. The civil case served another purpose, and that was as yet another excuse to churn the criminal case. Donaldson’s lawyer argued that his trial could not possibly proceed while the civil case rumbled on. The twisted reasoning was that Jane and her sister Liz had conspired to invent the history of violence as part of a financial extortion attempt being perpetrated against him. It was as cowardly as it was fictional.
This is an example of one of the dozens of ugly texts Jane received:
Tell the polis the truth u robbed the man for years and now ur fittin him its a shakedown and a fit up an ur the lowest ae the lowest horr cunts but yer nt gett away wae it u jist a daft wee lassie and try to kid all but u no kiddin any 1 biggest slag goin and u puttin that wee boy thru it wot u all aboot whatever coming u way u des slag.
During this period, Donaldson was defended in the criminal case by Gordon Jackson QC, a former Labour MSP who has since been elevated to the influential post of Dean of Faculty of Advocates. Jackson got a right result for Donaldson. During one of the countless procedural hearings, the eminent criminal lawyer persuaded Sheriff Stuart Reid, who has a background in civil law, to throw out the case due to an alleged Crown failure to disclose certain information.
I wrote a story which recorded the development while reflecting Jane’s disgust and her resigned lack of surprise at the sheriff’s decision. I contacted Judy Ferguson, a director of Scottish Women’s Aid, who said:
For women who have taken action after years of abuse it is heart-breaking and it really destroys them when they get such negative responses. During the process of seeking a criminal justice response, everyone tells them it’s the right thing to do. When something like this happens, it’s very harmful for women.
Undoubtedly this also affects other women who are experiencing the same problems. Survivors need to get their day in court and for justice to be served.
Prior to publication of that story, I put the Crown on the spot by asking what they intended to do about it. The unpalatable PR stink of having a thug accused of serious domestic violence being able to use deep pockets and churning to cheat justice may have influenced their decision to do the right thing. A month later, I reported that the Crown had decided to appeal the sheriff’s decision. When this appeared in print, Donaldson flew into a rage. He had firmly believed that he had won – that the case was over – but, three months after it had been killed off, senior judges upheld the Crown’s appeal and ruled that the sheriff’s decision was wrong. The successful appeal caused Donaldson’s anger to burn brighter than ever. Just weeks later, fake postman William ‘Basil’ Burns would arrive at my door with his special delivery.
Even though the domestic violence case was resurrected, many more months had been lost to the appeal process. Victims
and vulnerable witnesses were put through additional weeks of torture. Whenever Jane hears politicians or police chiefs pontificating about domestic abuse victims being treated as a top priority, she can be excused for her weary cynicism.
The new court date was set down for July 2016. The case had begun in December 2013. Another five charges were levelled against Donaldson, bringing the total to 16. But, as sure as night follows day, it was inevitable that the trial would not proceed on the scheduled date. Donaldson’s appetite for delays showed no sign of abating. Many more long and painful months of uncertainty and threats would be endured by Jane before Donaldson ran out of churn and, finally, was cornered like a rat.
12
SLEEPING POLICEMEN
My flip-flops squeaked and slapped on the wet path as I shuffled through the snow-dusted grounds of a hospital on a bitterly cold and grey December morning.
It was six days after the acid attack and I was trudging to yet another appointment with ophthalmic experts who would switch off the lights, apply stinging little drops to my right eye and peer at my scarred cornea. I was wearing flip-flops because my feet were a mess. The skin had been torn from the tops of most of my toes and the balls of each foot had deep, raw open wounds. At least the subzero temperatures were numbing the pain. That’s what happens when you have a barefoot boxing match on a monoblock driveway. I had tried shoes and trainers but my socks became welded to the sticky cuts which throbbed with pain. Flip-flops and frozen purple feet were a marginally better option.
Every day since the attack had been chaotic – pin-balling between medical appointments, dealing with security measures at my home, discussing the attack with my sympathetic and helpful company management while trying to find time to catch up with well-wishers to impart a template take on the insanity that had invaded my life. Emily Bayne of my HR department was a star as she handled the unusual circumstances with compassion and aplomb.
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